Imitate
by Nitesh
Summary: A lightsaber is a part of a Jedi, and Bao Dur knows that you can't rush the process of creating it. Atton, on the other hand, is not quite as perceptive... though it's not exactly his fault.


**Whoa, first KOTOR fic and all that jazz. I'm a bit disappointed that there aren't more Bao-Dur fics around, because I absolutely adore his character. If anyone can point me in the direction of any great ones that you can think of, though, I'd be much obliged. **

**Enjoy.**

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**Imitate**

He remembered when he had asked, as politely as he could, without offense, without deliberate injury adding to what had to be the insult.

"General, why do you not fight with a lightsaber?"

He remembered the thoughtful look that she returned to him, one that made his could-be injuring question much more comfortable. "It was taken from me, by the Jedi Council. Exiles are not allowed to keep their lightsabers." A smooth tone, light, but with enough hesitation to ensure that it was still a subject that had been, at least at one point, hurtful.

"Yes, but haven't you ever considered building a new one?" She shut her eyes briefly, and he did her the service of turning away to adjust one more askew pole before facing her again.

"I've considered it." Her voice was more steady now, and serious. "But it's been so long, I'm afraid I've forgotten where to begin."

He remembered feeling her shame at having forgotten something, having _lost_ something so precious, as she lowered her eyes away from his, and redirected her attention towards the metal grid she was helping him stabilize. Bao-Dur spoke as respectfully as he could manage— told her what she would need, offered to help. Watched her eyes lighten with a sudden, intense glow, as if they had taken in the light that her old lightsaber in that moment. He remembered that light, back in the wars. The eyes of a General.

She didn't mention it again for a long time, and he didn't bring it up. But he watched as she stood in the crystal caves; saw as she pulled away loose crystals from the formations, gingerly, reverently. He watched as she examined Visas' broken lightsaber hilt, rightfully hers as victor, with an expert eye that had not diminished in her years of exile. Unscrewed away one small part, and set aside the rest.

It was the small things that often spoke the loudest about the General.

The General's first priority was to find the Jedi Masters. She had said that to the crew of the Ebon Hawk, without a single hesitation and with strength in her words, and Bao-Dur trusted and believed it. But on the side, silently, he knew that she yearned for that lightsaber. And when the time finally came, when he cast his eye over the necessary parts she had shown him and nodded towards the workbench, he could see that glow in her eyes again.

She worked there for a long time, laying out all the pieces she had first, then bending over her work, ceasing to talk to him. He instead watched her out of the corner of his eye, listening to the quiet snaps and clicks of metal-on-metal as she delicately and deliberately pressed pieces together.

The General remained there for so long that when Atton Rand, her pilot, came out of the cockpit looking livid, Bao-Dur fully expected it. He shook my head vehemently at him when he started towards the General, and with a hand on his arm drew him out into the hallway.

Bao-Dur took note of Atton's face, his hunched shoulders, the impatience positively radiating off of him. He resisted the urge to shake his head. _Humans_. "The General is busy right now," he said in his soft voice, made softer by the knowledge that the General was deep in concentration in the other room. "Is there something that you need assistance in?"

"No." A sharp, immediate retort. Atton crossed his arms over his chest. "I've been sitting up there in the cockpit for the past half hour, waiting for _her_—" he gestured toward the other room "—to tell me where we're off to next. I'd guess and set a course to Nar Shadaa, but I'd probably be told otherwise, as usual."

"I am certain that she is aware of this," Bao-Dur said, finding that it was the only thing he was able to state. "I cannot, however, give you a time when she would be able to direct you."

"What is she doing, anyway?" Atton stared moodily at the doorway, where the quiet tap of metal could still be heard. "If she's upgrading that scrap piece of metal _longsword_ that she insists on lugging around, she can do it while we're in transit."

Bao-Dur felt a surging, swoop of anger, and stiffened at his blatant disrespect. If he had been in the Mandalorian Wars and had served under the General, he would never even have thought to speak in such a manner. "The General is constructing a lightsaber from scratch. This takes time and patience." Though he tried to remain as polite as possible, a slight grating tone entered his voice.

Atton didn't seem to notice, though his arms dropped and he looked surprised. "A lightsaber, huh? Well, why's it taking so long?" He scowled. "She's done it before." The pilot leaned against the wall, and after a moment, Bao-Dur followed his example.

"I do not know much about Jedi training," Bao-Dur admitted. "However, I do know enough to understand why it is taking her more time then may seem necessary." He paused, then continued. "Imagine, for a moment, that you have been training at the Jedi Academy for years, studying the Force, learning from the Masters."

"Being a Jedi," supplied Atton. Bao-Dur shook his head.

"_No_. Not a Jedi. Not even being the Padawan of a Jedi—a youngling. When a youngling completes his or her training, they are sent to retrieve a series of components from their stores and a crystal from the Khoonda caves. They build their lightsaber from scratch, unaided. Every one of them is different." He ran his hand over his artificial arm absently, staring away from Atton. "The symbol of a Jedi, one of the most important elements to their way of life. Many people have said that a Jedi is married to their lightsaber, and they would not be far from the truth. The General had that connection, too." He paused again, expecting Atton to interrupt. When it was clear that he wasn't, he continued. "Imagine, now, if that symbol that you had worked so diligently on as a child, that had served your life and the lives of others, serving you through hardships and war— imagine now, that that part of yourself been taken from you, torn away, as well as severing any abilities to get it back. Can you possibly think of the distain and misery you would have to suddenly have to use weapons that would now seem crude, mockeries of former glory that you had had, in battle?" He clenched his fist, and the metal one followed suit. "And can you imagine the unrestricted joy you would experience to get that part of yourself back? Can you imagine the time it would take to build a part of _yourself_ again, when there is already a prefect construction of it somewhere, out in the universe?"

When Bao-Dur faced him again, he saw that Atton's face was clouded, emotionless but with his mouth set in a wavering line that resembled a frown. "I guess I hadn't thought of that." He ran a hand through his hair and stared up into the ceiling. "When I talked to her about it, she didn't seem fazed about it though. Couldn't even remember the color."

"Would you have wanted to remember such a thing? Many would have, yes, to remember something so precious. But many would not, because they could not bear to. And because of this, they forgot, though whether intentionally or not depend."

"So…" Atton seemed to have difficulty wrapping his head around it. "As soon as she finishes this, she'll be… whole again?"

If he had been any less patient, Bao-Dur would have stamped his foot. "No. What I'm saying is that it is quite possible that she will never be whole again. But it is more likely that she can be if she has all the time she needs."

"Is she hurting, Bao-Dur?"

The Iridonian blinked and paused, confused. Atton, who had never seemed to show the slightest bit of compassion or feeling toward the Exile other then aggravation and impatience, was now staring up at the ceiling with his arms crossed, asking if she was alright. His demeanor suggested indifference, but Bao-Dur saw more uncomfortable concern.

This surprised him. "Who—the General?"

"No, the hag." The sarcasm that dripped into his voice like venom reminded him that even if he did have some hidden agenda, he was still planning on keeping it hidden, and now regretted his question. Bao-Dur looked back out across the hall.

"The General," he said carefully, "has not given me any physical evidence that would make me believe that she is in pain because of her exile. But it is very possible that she is hurting." He shuffled his step inattentively. "A general has a duty to her troops to make certain that they know they can overcome all challenges. She could hardly do that if any in her army believed her to be wounded."

Atton frowned. "But she was exiled _after_ the Mandalorian Wars."

Bao-Dur drew himself up slightly. "She has never stopped being my general."

"Well, that's great, buddy," Atton said, rolling his eyes. "No one else on this ship was in service with her, though."

"Can you honestly say that you do not follow her, fight for her? Even now this ship gains more and more people who are willing to follow under her. Is it possible at this point to deny that she is a natural leader?"

"She's an ex-Jedi," muttered Atton. "And I can't speak for everyone, but I'm on this ship because I have to be."

"Trivialities, Atton. Why haven't you left?"

"I… that's…" Atton flushed, not angrily, but annoyed for being put on the spot. "That's none of your business."

Less surprise this time. Bao-Dur held out his hands. "I meant no offence, Atton. But you do understand where I'm going with this?"

"Yeah, I get it." He jammed his hands in his pockets and stared moodily away. Bao-Dur redirected his attention to the ground. "Chances are, she's in pain and no one can know because she's got a nobility complex from the war."

"The General carries around a lot of weight from the war," Bao-Dur felt he needed to clarify. "She suffers, but then, we all suffered. We all survived, and adapted. I hope that she has, as well." Bao-Dur's mouth twisted into an unhappy line for his ineloquence. "It's… I suppose it's hard to understand."

"And you do?"

The words must have slipped out unintentionally. The Iridonian raised his head slightly to see that Atton had winced and stopped without another word, realizing his mistake.

Bao-Dur did not allow for an uncomfortable silence. Instead, he laughed shortly, though it was without any humor. "Yes. Yes, I do." He found that he was absently pulling on his mechanical fingers and stopped immediately. Then he laughed, a real laugh, and a bitter one. "A price to pay. I got off easier then many, including the General."

"Sorry." The pilot looked abashed, but kept talking, not giving Bao-Dur a chance to pursue it. "What I meant was that I can understand. I _do_." Atton seemed to understand that he was beginning to babble and shook his head slightly. "How long did you serve under her?"

An apology. Slight, but there. Atton Rand kept surprising him. He smiled a small smile and took a deep breath to continue.

He never did. From the other room, the clicking had stopped, and a soft but sharp _hzsst _noise split the air, followed by a contented sigh. Bao-Dur peered into the room, feeling Atton lean over his shoulder to follow his gaze. The Exile was only standing there, with one hand placed solidly on the workbench. Her other held the lightsaber that she had worked so diligently on, and she was gazing into the beam of light. A intense yellow blade, like the sun. The light radiated off her face, illuminated her smile.

Her last had been blue, like her eyes. Bao-Dur remembered that she had a blue crystal with her, found in the caves. It seemed strange that she would not want to make it the same color, but then again, Bao-Dur did not understand much about the way the Jedi worked.

"General?"

The light snapped away as quickly as if a switch had been flipped, and the General seemed to only then realize that he was standing there with Atton over his shoulder. "Yes?"

Noticing that Atton seemed lost in thought, Bao-Dur continued. "Your pilot is wondering where are next destination is."

"Oh." The General looked curiously from Atton to Bao-Dur again, then leaned over to hook her lightsaber to her belt, arranging it in such a way that it easily accessed. "Well, obviously we're going to Nar Shadaa. I told him that already."

Atton's eyes widened. "You didn't tell me!" he sputtered.

"Yes, I did. I said it right before we boarded. You could have asked T3, he would have told you the same thing."

Atton stood there for a moment more, sputtered a few mangled, indescribable words, then stomped off again to the cockpit. Another squealing noise split the air only seconds later, if droids were capable of squealing.

The General raced from the room, as Bao-Dur had known she would. "_Atton_! You leave that droid _alone_!"

Some sort of retort about how T3 had been 'in the _way_' was made, but at that point, Bao-Dur was no longer listening. He went back to his scaffolding, and his remote, which had since been zipping around the _Hawk_, resumed its place hovering near his head, beeping sporadically.

And with that last feeling of comfort, he began his mending again.


End file.
